


The Best Part of Believe is the Lie

by gemjam



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-13 13:53:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2153142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemjam/pseuds/gemjam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christian is a successful business man and paying for sex is really no different than any other service to be bought or sold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best Part of Believe is the Lie

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the anon who asked for Mark Webber/Christian Horner - #31 prostitute/client AU

It's just stress relief. He doesn't have time for dating but that doesn't mean he needs to turn into a monk. He has a high pressure job and a release, a distraction, it's only healthy. It's necessary, really, if he wants to stay sane. This and a million other justifications is how he ends up browsing male escort sites.

The first thing that hits him is it's far more expensive than he was expecting. He can afford it, that's not a problem, but it seems a little extravagant. He doesn't think he could do what they do though. They're earning every penny.

Once he finds a site he trusts it's two weeks before he can settle on an escort and make a booking. That's not true, Mark catches his eye straight away, or "Mark", Christian doubts they use their real names. There's something about him though, the cheekbones and the stubble and the twinkle in his eye. Christian scrolls away but he inevitably ends up back on his photo, his profile. It's a given from the start.

He books a full date because it feels less seedy than just asking for what he wants. He's responsible for all payments and he spends nearly as much as the escort fee again booking a fancy restaurant in London, a room in the swanky hotel next door. Money is no object though and he kind of hates himself for that. What a pathetic measure of his success.

They meet in the bar area of the restaurant and as requested Mark is dressed smartly, tailored suit, crisp white shirt, just the top button undone. He leans in to kiss Christian on the cheek, placing a warm hand on his shoulder, and the act is so real Christian almost believes it.

"It's nice to see you," Mark says warmly, offering Christian a smile that makes him suddenly shy, like this is a real date.

They're seated at a table and Christian looks over the menu, the nerves in his stomach making all the expensive dishes look unappealing. He's been here plenty of times before, for business rather than pleasure, so he orders on autopilot, happy to let Mark lead the conversation while he moves his food around his plate and eats as much as he can.

Mark is loquacious but he's laid back enough that his easy conversation never feels like an onslaught. He latches onto the fact that Christian is well-travelled, talking about his own exploits around the globe, attempting to swap stories, but Christian has never been a tourist. The truth is that he's visited just about every airport and boardroom in the world, not much in between.

Mark eats every bit of his three course meal and as Christian pays the bill on his credit card he hopes Mark hasn't overindulged because the expensive part of the evening is still to come and Christian wants to get his money's worth. Everything else is just window dressing. Story of his life really.

It's a warm evening as they step outside, strolling the few meters to the hotel. Christian checked in before he met Mark so he has the keycard for the room in his pocket already, directing Mark towards the elevators. Mark tries to make small talk on the way up but Christian stays silent, staring at the numbers above the door rising upwards. The keycard shakes in his hand as he slips it into the lock. When they finally step inside the room he feels like he might suffocate.

While Christian stands stock still Mark shrugs his jacket off, placing it on the back of a chair before unfastening one cufflink and then the other and there's something so ridiculously erotic about it. He arranges them on the desk and then approaches Christian who swallows nervously. Christian Horner is not a man who gets intimidated, who runs away from things, but he's never been so terrified in his life.

Mark doesn't say anything, just slides Christian's jacket from his shoulders, Christian trying to hide the shudder the motion elicits. His jacket neatly aside, Mark reaches for Christian's wrist, taking off his cufflink, Christian offering up the second one without having to be prompted. Mark turns his attention to the buttons of his shirt next, sliding the top one open before Christian lifts a hand to stop him.

"You first," he says, his voice sounding rough.

Mark smiles, taking a step back. "You like to watch?" he teases, starting work on his own buttons.

"Yes. No. I don't know," Christian fumbles, eyes fixed on Mark's hands as they work their way smoothly downwards. It's not slow but it's still somehow sensual and Christian can feel himself getting hard, losing himself to it.

"Keep going?" Mark asks as he slips out of his shirt.

Christian's eyes are already on his waistband before Mark's fingers make their way there. "Yeah," he says. "But keep the underwear on."

Mark nods, making quick work of the rest of his clothing, and yet it still never feels gratuitous. He stands there in front of Christian in his tight, black boxer briefs and Christian can't stop himself from just gazing up and down at all that flesh, tanned and toned and begging to be touched. Christian's mouth is dry, his smart trousers tented ludicrously, and he's never felt more unsure of anything in his life.

Mark moves towards him, a fluidity in his steps that's hypnotising. He stops just short of Christian, their bodies brushing together, and then he leans in close, dipping his head down, his breath falling across Christian's cheek. He kisses him there, Christian's eyes sliding closed, Mark's lips trailing across his flesh until they're at his ear.

"Your turn?" he asks.

Christian nods his head, Mark kissing his jaw as he unfastens the buttons on his shirt, continuing right down until he has his trousers open too. He kisses Christian's neck as he strips him of his shirt, drops down to his knees and kisses his stomach as he helps him step out of his shoes, his socks, his trousers. He gets back to his feet, kissing the corner of Christian's mouth and offering him a smile that's so caring and so genuine that Christian thinks if there weren't an envelope of his money in Mark's jacket pocket he'd definitely be falling for him right now.

Mark crosses the room, searching in his trousers before coming out with a handful of little foil packets. "I've got tutti-frutti, very cherry, caramel or just your standard no frills," he says, tossing the lube onto the bed one by one. "Choice is yours. Have to insist on this one though." He holds up a condom. "Extra strong, extra safe."

Christian nods his agreement, approaching the bed. "Plain," he says.

Mark grabs the packet, tossing the rest onto the nightstand out of the way. He cups the side of Christian's face, leaning in to brush their mouths together in a chaste kiss. Christian's eyes fall closed and when he opens them again Mark's giving him that smile, soft and warm, his hand sliding down Christian's arm to take hold of his hand, guiding them onto the bed.

Mark lies beneath Christian, hitching his hips up to slide his underwear down. Christian doesn't look. It's absurd but it feels like he'd be prying. Mark tears open the packet of lubricant, slicking up two fingers before sliding them between their bodies, between his own legs, his breath hitching as Christian's imagines them sliding inside.

"I want to," Christian says, reaching for the rest of the packet. He looks at Mark. "Can I?"

Mark smiles, pulling his own hand away and lying there, so open and relaxed, his guard completely down. Christian is in awe of him. His hands shake as he slicks up his fingers and he doesn't look at what he's doing as he slides them down Mark's body, going on touch alone, finding Mark's already slick entrance and pressing inside, his face buried in Mark's neck.

Mark hitches his hips, makes an appreciative noise, and Christian moans brokenly in response. It's so painfully intimate to be doing this to somebody, with somebody, whether he's paying for it or not. Mark's body, warm and slick and inviting, offers him no resistance, just a glorious friction, and Christian wants to bury himself inside him, wants to never have to come out again.

Mark's hands lift from where they're draped on the bed, stroking Christian's side a few times until Christian whines, lifting his head. Mark slides his fingers beneath the waistband of Christian's underwear and Christian nods eagerly, needing everything, his hand sliding out of Mark without even realising it in his rush to help Mark rid him of that final layer between them.

Mark tears open the condom, rolls it down Christian's dick, gives him a couple of strokes before Christian pushes his hand away, far too close, needing for this to just be happening already. Mark's legs are carelessly open wide, his hands touching Christian's chest, his hips, his thighs. Christian gives a sob and then he's moving forward, lining up, pushing irresistibly inside.

He's missed this on so many levels he can't even process it. The heat, the slickness, the base animal instincts that go along with fucking, but it's not just that. He's missed being this close to another human being, sharing a connection so inescapable. Christian spends his days in a world of brittle smiles and firm handshakes, everything so shallow and superficial. This is what it feels like to be alive. This is what it feels like to live.

He pitches his body forward, balancing over Mark's body as he writhes beneath him, fucking himself on Christian's cock without ever looking like he's putting the slightest bit of effort in. He wraps his legs around Christian's waist, moans wantonly as his body arches upwards, and Christian gives in so completely, collapsing atop him, letting Mark control everything.

Mark's hand slides between them, grasping his own cock, wanking himself to the rhythm of his thrusts, and Christian is aware in some distant place that maybe he should be doing that but he doesn't want to wreck this perfect balance.

He comes with a shudder and a cry, fingers digging into Mark's shoulders, holding onto him for dear life. Mark comes moments later and even though Christian knows it must be practised synchronicity it still feels like something shared.

He nuzzles at Mark's neck, trying to not let reality sink in, but it's already too late. He rolls off, curled on his side, and Mark stays for a little while but not long enough. Christian tries not to wonder if he has any more appointments tonight.

Pulling the condom from his dick he listens to the sounds of Mark cleaning himself up in the bathroom and he tells himself that it doesn't make him dirty. Mark returns, still naked, and he brings Christian a damp washcloth the smells vaguely of generic hotel toiletries. Christian reaches for it before he can get close.

"Thanks."

Mark nods, handing it over easily, and busies himself with getting dressed. Christian watches and it's like the way he stripped in reverse, the layers going on in the exact opposite order than they came off. He collects the unused lube from the nightstand, tidies away the used packets, and it's almost like Christian has been in this hotel room alone. He tries not to let the cold seep in, tells himself it's only the drying sweat on his skin.

"Can I...." he begins awkwardly, the words sticking in his throat. "Do you.. accept... repeat business?"

There's that smile again and Mark reaches into his inside pocket, pulling out a business card. "This is the direct line," he says. "I trust you. You don't need to go through the agency." He leans down, brushing his lips against Christian's temple as he hands over the card. "I'd love to hear from you again."

He lets himself out and Christian shifts over to the other side of the bed, the used side. He presses his face into the pillow, the sharp corners of the business card cutting into his palm as he holds it too tightly, breathing in the memory of Mark.


End file.
